


Soul to Self

by buttercups3



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Militia days, Miloe Porn, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles and Bass are starting to fall apart, and Miles has threatened to leave (because he's a drama queen). Bass shows Miles Rachel's dead body, Miles gets drunk, he bothers Jeremy, and then: Miloe Porn (clearly the point of this whole endeavor).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul to Self

_Rachel’s dead_ , Bass says. Miles ghosts his fingers across the blue, clammy lips, soul only just evicted from body, wavy hair splayed out like sea spray, cool to the touch. If he had gotten home just a few hours earlier, he could have said goodbye. It was an infection of some sort: villainous microbes triumphant as they so often are in the Black.

Miles wants to hate someone for it, so he tries Bass. It’s easiest to despise Bass, because Miles wanted to release Rachel ages ago (or so he told himself. So he didn’t do. As if Bass has any power over Miles when he really sets his mind to something.) Bass and Miles, once as close as two mortals could be, limbs grown together, answering each other’s unspoken questions, have scarcely talked for six months let alone made love. They’ve bickered over everything instead – Rachel, Ben, the Republic – until there was nothing left to do but avoid one another. Miles has been on campaign far longer than necessary – more than three weeks – and he comes home to this.

Grief, ire, and helplessness turn Miles’s stomach sour, which he attempts to settle with a bottle of whiskey after everyone’s retired to their rooms for the night. He stomps toward Jeremy’s room after a spell. (He wants Bass, but he’s too damn proud to start there.) Miles flings open Jeremy’s door without so much as knocking, and the captain squints at him. 

“‘Evening Miles,” he drawls. “Now get the fuck out of my room.”

“General’s privileges.”

“A privilege is something one earns. You’re just a run-of-the-mill dick. This is my room. Get out.” Jeremy tosses a boot at Miles’s head, and Miles sluggishly ducks just in time.

“Just wanna ask you something,” Miles slurs, swatting at a phantom boot well after the fact.

“Well, say your piece before the other boot drops. Literally.”

“Has Bass been fucking other people?”

Jeremy’s jaw falls open a centimeter or two. “On second thought, hand me my boot back – I’m going to brain myself with it so that I don’t have to have this conversation.”

“C’mon, Jeremy.”

“You’re pathetic, Miles. And yes. Of course he fucks other people. What did you think? That he’d wait around for months for you to emerge from your teenage funk? No one knows what’s gotten into you lately. And here’s a little newsflash – prepare yourself, now, this is going to come as a pinprick to your buoyant blimp of an ego – no one _cares_.”

Miles feels like a bull, stamping his feet, steam rising from his nose, but he can’t stop himself. It’s not that he’s even mad at Jeremy – he’s getting more irate at Bass by the second. “How many?” Miles grills Jeremy.

“How many what?” Jeremy sighs, like each one of Miles’s questions is lopping a year off his lifespan.

“How many has he been with?” 

“Oh, Jesus Christ. Ten, twenty? Does it matter? Go to him and fuck until your cocks wither and die. I’m sure you’ll both forget about your little spat and the world will right itself again.”

Jeremy is usually quite tolerant of Miles’s ranting, so Miles acknowledges that Jeremy is at his limit and departs. He spends the better part of a half hour _not_ walking to Bass’s door, before he finds himself standing in front of it, pounding with a fist and bellowing, “Bass! Lemme in, you cunt!”

Bass is startled from a book by the ruckus. He would ignore the son of a bitch, but he recognizes that he’s dealt Miles a major blow today by presenting him with Rachel’s body. Really, she was drugged and is now stowed beneath the earth in a secret cell. Bass had to stage all this, absurdly dramatic as it sounds. Miles had threatened to leave with her. She had done a number on her brother-in-law’s loyalty in the past year, convincing Miles that the Republic was corrupt and that Bass was cracked by power, greed, and more personal loss than he could bear. Bass would have been ok with really killing her, but he was too afraid that she would remain the only link to the Power they’d ever find. He needed her out of the picture for now, at least until he and Miles could mend their fractured relationship.

So Bass opens the door. “Drunk, Miles? Well, come in. Don’t stand out there and make a scene.”

As soon as Bass has ushered Miles in, he realizes that this is the first time in half a year that Miles has set foot in his room. Something in his chest aches.

“How many people have you fucked, Bass?” comes the thick voice, dripping with liquor.

Bass has turned away from Miles with hands on hips, and it takes him a moment to process the question. Slowly, he looks over his shoulder in amazement. That’s why Miles is here? Not to talk about Rachel? It’s actually a good sign. Miles wants to talk about _them_. Albeit, he’s being an immature asshole. 

“Excuse me?”

“How many people have you fucked since we were last together?”

“Wow. Really? Ok. A lot. Too many to count. I’ve had dicks and pussies and assholes…whatever I’ve wanted. I _am_ the president.”

Miles has crossed the room in one enormous stride and shoves Bass against the wall with a thud. Blood rushes to Bass’s groin. Crazy as it sounds, it feels good to have Miles direct passion at him again. It’s been nothing but months of cold, black eyes.

“What do you expect, Miles? We never made each other any promises.”

Miles actually growls at him like an ogre. It makes Bass chuckles a little.

“You think you’re so big and frightening, but I know you better than you know yourself. And I’m not scared of you.” Bass says as he reaches forward and takes firm hold of Miles’s balls, not to inflict pain but to hold him in check. Miles flinches.

“Bass, I can’t do this anymore.” His voice has abruptly softened.

“What?” Bass grows nervous. Not this again.

“We just don’t agree on anything anymore. How did we get so far apart?”

Bass loosens his grip on the crotch and rubs his palm back and forth against it instead, willing Miles to fuck not fight. Hell, he’s not even sure he wants to bang Miles, part of him is so angry with his best friend. But the way Miles begins to melt in Bass’s hand does make him long for the past.

Bass asks, “Why are you so keen to give up on me? We’ve been to hell and back. Always’ve come out together before.” He kneads his fingers a little, feeling Miles’s balls draw closer to his body in arousal.

Miles's lips tremble a little. “Rachel…”

“Fuck, Miles. I’m so sorry about Rachel.” Weirdly, Bass means it. He sees the pain in Miles’s booze-watery eyes. “A lot of people have been lost to disease. It’s not our fault for keeping her here. She could have died anywhere. But I am sorry. I know…I know how you felt about her.” Jealousy blooms in the pit of Bass’s stomach.

Miles collapses into Bass a little more, resting his forehead against Bass’s, apparently allowing the ecstasy to spread from his sac throughout his nervous system. Miles closes his eyes.

Bass decides he has Miles now and pushes him away, striping quickly to the nude and lying on his back on the bed.

“If you’re so jealous of all my conquests, why not come here and give me a proper nailing? It’s been so long, I don’t even remember what it feels like to have you in me.”

Bass lies there patiently until he senses Miles’s looming form behind his head. Bass scoots to the edge and reaches up to unzip the fly of Miles’s uniform. Bass gently traces the smooth, familiar curves of Miles’s dick before pulling it out and forward into his mouth. Miles presses against Bass’s tongue, in and out, quiet at first, but in a few moments Miles pants and forcefully entangles his fingers in Bass’s curls. Miles fucks Bass’s mouth from behind for an indulgently long time, to the point where Bass’s jaw begins to stiffen, but he doesn’t object. Finally, Miles pulls out and away, undressing.

In a moment, Miles lies down on top of Bass, the muscles conforming to each other after a lifetime of education. Miles rubs his saliva-slicked penis against Bass’s blood-swelled cock. Bass digs his fingertips into Miles’s biceps harder than is necessary, but Bass suddenly wants to leave a mark. Miles has threatened to desert him. Miles deserves to feel an echo of the pain he’s inflicted on his best friend these past six months. 

Bass groans. This is too much friction on the delicate head of his penis. Miles is always much more willing to mix pain with pleasure. Whenever it’s Bass turn to fuck Miles in the ass (a rarity, in fact), Miles forces feeds Bass in, long before the tight ring of muscle is ready to accommodate his girth. Bass has even made Miles bleed before – it’s not healthy or safe. Miles could get an infection. But he doesn’t seem to care. He _wants_ to be wounded, possibly. Maybe thinks he deserves it. But when Miles enters Bass’s hole, he’s often tender, patient, loving – uncharacteristically so. And Bass is grateful because he doesn’t understand Miles’s penchant for self-demolition. Life is hard enough without being so unkind to yourself.

Miles appears to recognize that Bass is trying to angle away from the rawness of dick on dick. Miles slides jerkily down the ripples of Bass’s abdomen, pausing to lick his fingers and pull on the base of Bass’s cock, coaxing it achingly to full arousal. Miles slides the rest in his mouth until his lips meet his own fingers. Bass moans again, this time in full acquiescence to bliss. Bass watches Miles face. It’s so tragic, so melancholic that Bass almost asks him to stop so that he can hold Miles, promise him that it’s going to be ok. But that would be a lie. This thing with Rachel is only the beginning of what looks to be a protracted, bone-scraping battle between them.

Bass fixates on Miles’s thick eyelashes, as he closes his eyes to lean into his work.

Miles has missed this more than he cares to admit. He’s becoming completely lost in Bass – the salty, spicy taste of the penis he basically worships, the rapturous sounds of what he is doing to his lover. It’s pathetic that Miles hasn’t been with anyone the entire time they’ve been apart. He could almost cry, thinking about how easy it is for Bass to move on to other fuck-buddies. He closes his eyes and tries to hold it together, because it’s definitely not cool to weep when you’re giving a blowjob. He’s disgusted with himself. After awhile, he opens his eyes to look at Bass and finds he is being carefully observed. It makes his own dick throb, and he reaches down to squeeze at the base to try to relieve some pressure.

Finally, Miles slides his lips to the tip of Bass’s cock, forcing his tongue the minutest distance into the slit, tasting the salt. Bass makes a sound like a peep, and it makes Miles smile. How could he ever give this up? 

Miles forces up Bass’s legs and pushes a thumb onto the perineum right by Bass’s pucker, stimulating his prostate from the outside. Miles slides his tongue over the hole, encircling it and then plunging inward with just the tip.

“Uh, Miles.”

The sound of Bass coming undone is like a drug for Miles. Again he encircles the muscle ring and again plunges inside, this time further and accompanied by a firm massage of Bass’s perineum. Bass is sweating, his head flung back, and his bottom lip caught in his teeth. Miles lubes up his own dick and begins the final push into Bass. Bass’s body feels oddly accommodating, and Miles tries not to think about the other men Bass has let fuck him.

Bass looks down. Miles is inside him, burying himself deeper and deeper, shivering. They lock eyes, and Bass thinks, I love you, you stupid cockfuck. I love you now as much as I ever did, even though I hate you.

“Harder,” Bass commands aloud.

Miles places a gentle hand on Bass’s stubbled cheek, which Bass reaches down to kiss. Miles begins pounding him.

“Yeah,” Bass appreciates, throwing his head back again, giving in to the dull thump of Miles’s cock against his prostate.

Miles must be getting close, because he dumps an enormous quantity of lube on Bass’s dick, jacking him two handed, wanting them to come together. Miles is romantic like that.

Bass can feel Miles watching him closely, denying his own release until Bass is ready. It only takes one more synchornized yank of his dick and thrust into his prostate for him to lose all muscle control. He’s spasming come all over Miles’s fingers – some even squirts onto Miles’s cheek. But Miles doesn’t notice, because he’s orgasming in violent, long thrusts, filling Bass’s anus. Miles pulls out and collapses on Bass’s chest, lightly sliding his hand up and down Bass’s shaft as Bass comes down from his high, because Miles knows Bass likes that.

None of the people Bass has fucked could ever know his body like Miles does. True, it can almost be boring at times, but it’s not now. Now it’s heaven.

Miles shivers through a few more involuntary spasms, as he lies with his come-smeared cheek pressed to Bass’s pectoral muscle. How many more times he’ll get to do this with Bass is uncertain. The whiskey has worn off, and Miles is left with an empty, vacated feeling in his loins. There’s a part of him that will always be in love with Bass – the part that makes for amazing sex. But it doesn’t change what’s broken.


End file.
